


Please don't make me think of a title.

by bofurrific



Series: Hobbit Drabbles [37]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Family, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I legit could not do it, everything, look what I titled it, someone else title it, sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:14:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bofurrific/pseuds/bofurrific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bofur's loneliness is forgotten as he embraces the new title of Uncle. He spends every waking moment not underground entertaining his brother's and cousin's children, telling them stories and playing them songs, and it is almost like being a big brother again. He often falls asleep beneath a pile of dwarrows on Bombur's hearth and is stiff but happy when he heads the mines the next morning.</p><p>This is the story of Bofur and Bombur and Bifur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please don't make me think of a title.

Bofur was never one of the older brothers, like Dori and Nori, who hated being stuck at home with his sibling. 

From the moment he laid eyes on Bombur, he was in love. They'd been such a small family, himself and his parents and his father's brother who had but one son as well, but Bifur was two decades older than Bofur so although he wasn't opposed to playing with his younger cousin, he was expected to stop with his playing and learn his father's trade, and Bofur was often lonely.

But not once Bombur was born. Bofur fell in love with his chubby cheeks and meaty fists and big brown eyes. He stood for hours over his brother's crib to stroke the ginger wisps of hair the sprinkle of freckles over his nose. His mother would laugh and never had to do a thing with the new baby; Bofur wanted to do it all. 

But too soon he was following his father down to the mines, and Bombur's plump little hands were waving goodbye, and not for the first time, he found himself wishing his father had become a toymaker like Bifur's father.

The mines were deep and dark and the work difficult, but Bofur thought it worth it to see Bombur's face light up when he came trudging home, covered in grime and aching, even though his mother won't let them hug until he's washed up.

He has to be up early every morning, but Bofur still sings Bombur to sleep every night, crammed in their bed that is rapidly becoming too small as Bombur grows.

On the rare days he's not in the mines until nightfall, Bofur takes Bombur's pudgy hands and they bid their mother and father good day, making the short trek to their uncle's workshop to see their cousin. Bifur takes them out back and shows them what he's been working on, guides Bofur's hands with a whittling knife, and his father lets him take a long lunch to eat and play with his cousins on the hill, to tell them stories of his customers, the children and their wide eyes peering up at him.

These are Bofur's favourite days, and he is always sad when he and Bombur leave Bifur and head home, though of course he never lets it show for fear of worrying his baby brother.

Everything changes when their father dies. Bofur is old enough now that he works in a different vein of the mine than his father. There is a rockslide and many dwarves are killed. Bofur goes home alone that night and holds Bombur tight as the younger weeps, and thinks his heart is still in the dark and cool of the mine because he can't feel anything but his brother in his arms.

Their mother picks up an extra shift in the kitchen of the inn she works in and has no choice but to take Bombur along with her. She teaches her youngest to cook alongside her and almost cries in relief when he picks it up so quickly that the inn's manager decides to pay him as well. Between the three of them, they make enough money to get by.

Bofur can't help but be a little jealous that Bombur and his mother get to spend the entire day together, that he is shut so far from the sunlight all day and his muscles are screaming at the end of the shift, that there is never time anymore to visit their cousin, with all three working themselves to the bone to put food on their table and a roof under their heads, but Bombur looks so proud when he makes supper and their mother rests that the jealousy is wiped from his mind the moment he walks through the door.

Time flies, Bofur thinks, while he is underground, and it feels that one day he leaves for work and Bombur is his chubby baby brother still holding their mother's hand as they go into town, and when he comes back home, there is a young dwarf sitting at his kitchen table with an enamoured lass across the table and there are discussions of proper courting Bofur had no idea had been going on those long days he spends underground, and someone brings up the possibility of marriage.

Bofur stares at his brother and wonders when he came of age, when his round-faced baby grew into his belly and his beard and captured the hearts of the dwarf women of the blue mountains. And he forces a smile on his face and most of it is genuine because his brother is so happy and getting married, but he can't help but ache for the nights before everything became so hard, when he and Bombur would crowd in their little bed and there were no secrets between them. He wonders how he missed everything that is important.

The invitation to Bifur's wedding, just as preparations are being made for Bombur's engagement, comes as a shock to the little family of three and they realize they haven't seen their cousin in almost a decade. But Bofur has never seen Bifur look so happy as he kisses his new bride and he and Bombur clasp hands and weep with joy over the new couple, and it is like they never missed a day when Bifur's arms get around them in celebration.

Bombur's wedding leaves Bofur weeping in more than joy, because his baby brother is grown up, and when he and his new bride move into their own house, they take his mother with him. They bring in more money now, and the mines are starting to run dry, and Bofur does not make enough to feed them both. Bofur wants to look at this as gaining a sister, but all he knows is that he is alone again. But the look on Bombur's face, the incredible happiness that Bofur doesn't think he's ever known, put a smile on his own visage, even through the tears.

Bombur, it seems, has chosen the best lass in all the land, in all their race, not only because she keeps him round and happy, but because she produces him children. He has two sons and a daughter by the time Bifur comes to visit with his first bundle, a son, in arms.

Bofur's loneliness is forgotten as he embraces the new title of Uncle. He spends every waking moment not underground entertaining his brother's and cousin's children, telling them stories and playing them songs, and it is almost like being a big brother again. He often falls asleep beneath a pile of dwarrows on Bombur's hearth and is stiff but happy when he heads the mines the next morning.

But good things, Bofur starts to learn, never last. Their mother grows ill, and even Oín, the best healer of the mountains, an elder from Erebor, cannot fix her. She passes while Bofur is underground and he forces himself to smile as he comforts his brother and nieces and nephews.

And then things turn worse. 

There is an attack on Bifur's village. An orc pack in the night. Bofur goes alone, doesn't want to worry Bombur, and when the younger finds out, it is the first time they have ever shouted at each other, their first real fight in almost a hundred and fifty years of being brothers. Bifur's bride and child are dead and Oín's hands wring when he explains Bifur's predicament, that he lives and breathes, but there is an axe stuck in his head that they cannot remove.

It takes everything in Bofur to stay together because after the anger Bombur holds toward him bleeds away, his baby brother is shaking and crying into his hands. And Bofur wants to fall apart right then but he can't, so he tugs Bombur to him and tells him, choked and shaky though the words may be, that it will be all right.

Bifur comes home with Bofur. He doesn't talk at all at first, needs to be helped in and out of clothes, to be fed, and every once in awhile Bofur comes home to find his cousin in a puddle of his own urine. His mind is all but gone and Bofur wears himself to the bone trying to piece him back together.

The tragedy brings Bombur over every night. They take turns looking after their cousin, and Bofur is thankful at first, then worried that it will come between Bombur and his wife, but then the lass comes over with dinner, sits down and feeds Bifur so the brothers can take a break, and Bofur almost weeps with how perfect she is.

It is slow work, but Bifur starts to talk. Low grunts and wild hand gestures at first, and there is much frustration on both ends because Bifur seems to understand what they are saying but cannot convey what it is he wants. Then the grunts start to take form. Bofur hasn't heard khuzdul since he was a wee dwarrow, mostly between his and Bifur's fathers as they smoked their pipes late into the night. He spends more time with the elders and their books than he ever thought he would to brush up on the secret language and all three sit down on the kitchen floor and cry in relief when they manage a conversation between them. It is just about dinner, but it is more than they've had in three years.

Bifur grows more and more steady with every night, it seems. He needs less help, speaks more broadly, though always in their secret language, and Oín says the common tongue may never come back. He has nightmares about his wife and his child and it is often that Bofur or Bombur will come home and find him staring off into space for hours at a time. They discover his violent streak when someone breaks into Bofur's home in search of gold coins. It is a young man raised to think dwarves beneath him, and there is little left of his face by the time the brother's rip Bifur from him, and they stare in shock and more than a little fear. They cover it up and never speak of it again, but neither is Bifur away from either of their sights ever again. 

Somehow during all of this, Bombur ends up with fourteen children. The money has been tighter with the need to watch Bifur; most of the older children are working to make enough for food. Bifur feels the strain and aches for his family, who have taken him in when anyone else would have left him to die. He starts making toys again, and ferocious and twisted as they may be, the children of the village like them.

For awhile, everything feels like it used to. Bifur makes toys and Bofur mines and Bombur cooks. And then talk starts about a prince of old who dreams of reclaiming the lost kingdom of Erebor. It is not their fight, having come to the Blue Mountains long before the dragon swooped down from the north. Bofur laughs off the quest until he sees Bifur's face, more solemn and more aware than it's been in years. Bifur goes first in search of the orc who left an axe in his head, and of course Bofur and Bombur have to follow.

Bombur kisses his wife and children goodbye and Bofur has no one but his brother's family to bid farewell to, and somehow they find themselves falling through a hobbit's door in a distant land.


End file.
